Twelve
by HeavyDrugsOrGroupHugs
Summary: Through Life Support, four people get the opportunity to be the backbone of a young girl dying of AIDS. Post-RENT, Three-Shot.
1. Chapter 1

Mark, fumbling with his camera, followed a quiet Mimi, Roger and Collins though the community center doors. These weekly visits, the trips there and back again, often made in silence always hung heavy over Mark's head. After almost two years of attending the Life Support meetings, he was still the only regular member not afflicted by AIDS. They'd lost so many members in that short time that the threat of death touched Mark just as it touched everyone else, but in a very different way. Mark too needed Life Support, to keep him going when his friends eventually succumbed. He went to the meetings, seeking shelter from AIDS by plunging himself into the midst of it.

As he waited for the sudden fog on his glasses to clear in the warm building, Mark gave small smiles to the slightly blurry figures of the Life Support members. There were no hugs of greeting, no casual small talk. The group was fairly quiet most days, editing everything that came into their heads, deciding what to share.

Mimi had gone stir crazy the first time she attended with Roger. She said she couldn't stand the gloom. But Collins had explained to her what she was missing: that the gloom came from the outside, and slowly, though these meetings, it was forgotten. Mimi came back again. And again. And again.

Mark's favourite part of the community center was the chairs. Though he hadn't realized it at first, the chairs told more stories than the members. It was only after Angel died did Mark notice the name plates, one for each Life Support member who had passed on. Collins had made a special request for the love of his life. Only her first name graced the small plaque. No last name, no _In loving memory of_. Just Angel.

Slowly, the group came together, sitting in their customary circle. They welcomed someone new. This, Mark was sad about. A new person meant one more that was in such a place that they needed support. Collins reflected about Angel, lost just over a year ago. People shuffled. An hour passed.

As the meeting wrapped up, Mark found Paul coming towards him and his friend. A nervous kind of smile flickered on Paul's face, something that caught Mark off guard.

"Hey," said the Life Support leader to the four. "I thought you guys might be interested…I mean, it could make a difference…if you wanted." He took a breath and started again. "A woman contacted Life Support yesterday. Her 12-year-old daughter was recently diagnosed with AIDS. The girl got a blood transfusion with a surgery, and was given tainted blood. The mother was wondering if some Life Support members would come spend some time with the girl."

Mark glanced over at his friends. Mimi's face was twisted into a mask of pain and sympathy. Roger stood stony faced, not giving anything away. And in Collins, Mark saw frank determination, and knew that the anarchist with the huge heart had already made up his mind.

"I'll go," Collins said.

"Me too," said Mimi, squeezing Collins' arm.

Roger looked at his girlfriend for a moment before nodding too.

"Mark?" said Paul, looking up at him expectedly.

Mark felt taken by surprise. He had assumed the offer was only towards his friends. He was the only one not suffering from the disease, the only one unable to offer experienced support. But he also knew that he was living with AIDS just as the others were, in his own way.

"Sure, yeah, I'll do it."

Paul's face broke into a smile. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much."


	2. Chapter 2

Mimi fiddled nervously with her necklace as the four stepped onto the porch of a modest New York suburb house.

"I think this might have been a mistake," she said softly, her eyes flickering from the white door to Roger and back again.

Mark sighed. "We promised."

But he too was feeling doubtful about the visit. What, really, could they say to this girl that would make any difference in her life, which was slowly fading out? The others stood solemnly on the doorstep, unmoving. Sighing again, Mark reached out and rang the doorbell.

A short, middle-aged woman answered. She smiled warmly at the strangers on the step as if she had known them for years.

"You must be the Life Support members. You have no idea what this means to me."

Roger shifted uncomfortably. Mimi pulled her skirt down a little more.

The woman bit her lip. "Please, come in."

Mark looked around as they entered the quiet house. The front hall was painted a light orange. _Cheerful_, he thought. A few snapshots stood in frames on a table: photos of a thoughtful looking girl, and of the woman standing before them in flesh and blood. There no pictures of a man. No father's face. Mark shut the door behind him.

The bohemians slipped out of their shoes, anxious not to track dirt into the clean house.

"Hope is upstairs in her room," said the girl's mother. "First door on the left. I'll…I'll let you be." Slowly, the woman turned and disappeared into the room at the end of the hall as Collins, Mimi, Mark and Roger headed quietly up the stairs.

Collins knocked once on the door before pushing it open.

A girl sat propped up in bed. She was tiny for her twelve years, and so thin that she appeared breakable. The four bohemians shuffled awkwardly into the room, which to Mark's relief did not look like a hospital. Instead, the walls were a robin's egg blue colour, covered with what appeared to be the cut off covers of books and theatre programs. The girl watched them. Four chairs sat near the bed. With nothing to be said, they sat down.

"Hi…" said Collins, hesitantly. He glanced at his friends, as if they could save him from awkward introductions. "I'm Collins, and this is Mimi, Roger and Mark."

"I'm Hope," said the girl, smiling self-consciously. "But I guess you already know that."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"So…how did you hear about Life Support?" asked Mimi, the first thing she had said since entering the house. Her face was ashen, and she stared at the young girl with a mix of pity and overpowering regret.

"My mom found out about it. She thought it would be good for me."

"Oh."

Another silence filled the room. _Say something! _Mark kicked himself mentally. _She shouldn't have to begin the conversation. _

"Um, is there anything you would like to, you know, talk about with us? Because we're here to listen, and…give support," he tried feebly.

"Well…" Hope's face gave something away before she turned it back to the covers on her bed. "Never mind."

"No, no! You can tell us. Talk to us."

"Would you….tell me about how you're all dealing with it? With AIDS?" She spoke to Mark, seemingly more comfortable with him than with anyone else.

"I…" Mark stuttered. "I don't…have it." He sent a pleading look to his friends.

"But I do," said Roger, bravely.

For the next half hour, Roger, Collins and Mimi shared their experiences of their fights with the disease. Mark too told of the second hand effects AIDS had on his life. Hope listened quietly, observing, taking in everything these people had to say.

"It isn't fair," she said eventually. "Everyone gets it from drugs or sex or something. I got it because of a stupid mistake. I never did anything wrong, and now I have to die."

Her words rang in the heads of the bohemians as they stood to leave soon afterward. As his friends started down the stairs, Mark turned to Hope one last time.

"It's a pretty name – Hope."

"It's ironic, isn't it?" she asked. "Because there's not hope for me?"

Mark smiled sadly. "Maybe," he said, and left her room.

X

The subway ride home was quiet. Mimi spoke only once.

"Roger?" she murmured. "I don't want to do anything like that again, ok?"

Roger just shook his head and they delved into silence again.


	3. Chapter 3

Mimi and Roger didn't attend Hope's funeral. They stayed home and watched old movies in black and white.

Mark and Collins went, feeling somber and underdressed. Once, Mark made eye contact with the girl's mother. Though it had only been a few months since they had met, Mark couldn't help but notice that the woman had aged greatly. She nodded at Mark, before turning her gaze to the floor, where it stayed for the length of the service. To Mark, it was ironic. While her mother was growing so old with the passing days, Hope would never get to live past twelve, just twelve.

They skipped the burial.

Two days later, Mark went to Life Support on his own for the first time ever. He would have stayed away, like his friends, as he was tired of being around AIDS for the time being, if not for a request he wanted to make. He came back a week later to be sure it had been carried out. In the second row of seats stood a plain wooden chair, like every other in the room. Only her first name graced the small plaque. No last name, no _In loving memory of_. Just Hope.


End file.
